


Pulled Pigtails and Spilled Ink

by thalialunacy



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-07
Updated: 2010-03-07
Packaged: 2017-10-26 16:33:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/285469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thalialunacy/pseuds/thalialunacy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Chris won't stop teasing Karl about being a geek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pulled Pigtails and Spilled Ink

**Author's Note:**

> I blame [this interview](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=olK-Or-n_Kg). Something about Pine's tone of voice ticked this geek off. So…I'm retaliating in fiction.

"So what're we doing tonight?" Chris asks as the door to Karl's apartment shuts behind them. "A little Assassin's Creed II? Some D&D? What?" He elbows at Karl with a grin, but when all he gets back is a grunt and The Stoic Face, he frowns. "Karl?"

"What?"

"Why the grumpy routine?"

"I dunno, man, why are you being such a prick?"

Chris's eyebrows climb as he takes off his shoes in the small entryway. "Me?"

"Yeah, you. You're always on about 'Karl's such a geek' this and 'the man is thirty-six years old and still plays with toys,' even to the press, for God's sake. And it's been non-stop today, first about the movie choice and now about—" Karl chucks his keys down on the table and reaches into the fridge. "Whatever. Everything." He pops the top off two bottles and holds one up.

Chris takes it, throwing his wallet down on the table with Karl's keys, but protests. "What the fuck? I was joking, dude—I mean, it's your last night here for a while and I know you're not exactly hip with the clubs, so I figured—"

"Figured what? Figured you could sit around and make fun of my hobbies all night?"

Karl turns to him, and Chris sees that he's really quite angry. He puts a hand up, absolutely flabbergasted. "You _deep-throated_ a _microphone_ at a _comicon_. Seriously? You think I shouldn't mock you about shit like that? At least I’m not as bad as Zach, who insists you have a thing for Cosby sweaters because of some long-seated—"

"Would you shut the hell up?"

Chris stops short. Karl's tone is harsh—harsher than he's ever heard on the guy off-stage. And before Chris can say 'Holy overreaction, Batman,' he's the subject of a rant the likes of which he's only witnessed about rugby and infidelity.

"You sit there like some Hollywood prince, holier-than-thou because you use big words and like Paul Newman, with your fucking ridiculous jeans and the notebooks of poetry you will never show anyone—"

"Wait—what? How did you know?"

"You _told_ me, Chris! Just like you've told me how you and Zach made out that one time, and how Zoe tastes like Bud Light and Marlb Reds but somehow isn't any less sexy."

"Yeah, well—"

"And you didn't even have to tell me how you want to ballroom dance but make a fool of yourself at clubs repeatedly, or that you liked being a Disney prince just as much as you liked any of your other work, even though you tear it a new one if certain people are around, or that your favorite book is still _Goodnight Moon_ and plausibly because of a mid-90s rom com."

"Hey, now, that movie was very—"

" _And_ you keep bedding these women who are nothing like you but everything like what you _should_ want, as if you haven't enough of a fucking backbone to wait around and find someone that actually suits you, God forbid. Instead you stand here, in my bloody flat, seeming to think we're best mates because you can beat up on pretty much everything that makes my life bearable when I'm lightyears from my home and family. I feel a bit shat upon, okay, pardoning the regrettable word association, and by someone who is supposedly such a nice fucking guy, not to mention—"

"Alright, enough, Karl, Jesus!" Chris puts his hands up, to block the shot that won't ever come no matter how angry Karl gets. "How is it that you know all this shit about me but you don't know the one thing that matters here?"

Karl shakes his head once. "What matters here is that you're awful to me, yet you keep—" He makes an expansive gesture around the room. "—keep hanging around."

"Exactly."

Karl sputters. "Fuck off and explain yourself."

Chris breathes out. Puts down his untouched beer. "Fine. But not in that order." He toes on his shoes and stuffs his wallet back into his pocket. "You know how when you were eight, twelve, hell even sixteen, and your buddies always knew which girl you liked the most because she's the one you acted like you couldn't fucking stand?"

"I don't—what's that got to do with anything?" Karl's brow is decidedly furrowed, and Chris knows he's not being stupid; Chris _knows_ how strong an undertow denial has.

So he does what has to be done. He kisses Karl Urban, right there, full on the surprised, tight, lush mouth. He swallows down the jump in his pulse, the jolt in his stomach. He ignores the shock written in Karl's eyes and the way Karl presses back instinctively, then jerks away.

It's barely a kiss, really.

"I'm not that nice of a guy," Chris says quietly, and turns away before Karl can speak.

He rubs a hand over his face as he walks away, suddenly exhausted. He pauses after opening the door to swipe his sunglasses back down over his eyes. "Give Natalie and the kids my love."

"Wait—Chris—I didn't—"

But Chris cuts him off. "No. It's fine." He steels himself and looks Karl in the eye. It's unfair considering he has sunglasses on, but it feels right somehow. "See you on set."

And then he leaves.

And Karl doesn't stop him.

 _  
**FIN**   
_


End file.
